IV。
Thepainterwentroundtothefrontofthehouseandwalkedupanddownbeforeitfordifferentpointsofview。Herandownthelanesomeway，andthencamebackandclimbedtotheslopingfieldbehindthebarn，wherehecouldlookatLion’sHeadovertheroofofthehouse。Hetriedanopenspaceintheorchard，wherehebackedagainstthewallenclosingthelittleburial—ground。Helookedroundatitwithoutseemingtoseeit，andthenwentbacktothelevelwherethehousestood。"Thisistheplace，"hesaidtohimself。Buttheboy，whohadbeenlurkingafterhim，withthedoglurkingat，hisownheelsinturn，tookthewordsasaprofferofconversation。
"Ithoughtyou’dcometoit，"hesneered。
"Didyou？"askedthepainter，withasmilefortheunsatisfiedgrudgeintheboy’stone。"Whydidn’tyoutellmesooner？"
Theboylookeddown，andapparentlymadeuphismindtowaituntilsomethingsufficientlysevereshouldcometohimforaretort。"WantI
shouldhelpyougetyourthings？"heasked，presently。
"Why，yes，"saidthepainter，withaglanceofsurprise。"Ishallbemuchobligedforalift。"Hestartedtowardtheporchwherehisburdenlay，andtheboyranbeforehim。Theyjointlyseparatedtheknapsackfromthethingstiedtoit，andthepainterlettheboycarrytheeaselandcampstoolwhichdevelopedthemselvesfromtheirfoldsandhinges，andbroughtthecolorsandcanvashimselftothespothehadchosen。Theboylookedatthetagontheeaselafteritwasplaced，andreadthenameonit——JereWestover。"That’safunnyname。"
"I’mgladitamusesyou，"saidtheownerofit。
Againtheboycastdownhiseyesdiscomfited，andseemedagainresolvingsilentlytobidehistimeandwatchforanotherchance。
Westoverforgothiminthefidgethefellinto，tryingthisandthateffect，withhisheadslantedonewayandthenslantedtheother，hishandhelduptoshutoutthemountainbelowthegranitemassofLion’sHead，andthenchangedtocutofftheskyabove；andthenbothhandsliftedinparalleltoconfinethepicture。Hemadesometentativescrawlsonhiscanvasincharcoal，andhewastedsomuchtimethatthelightonthemountain—sidebegantotaketherichtoneoftheafternoondeepeningtoevening。Asoftflushstoleintoit；thesundippedbehindthetopsouthofthemountain，andLion’sHeadstoodoutagainsttheintenseclearnessofthewest，whichbegantobeflushedwithexquisitesuggestionsofvioletandcrimson。
"GoodLord！"saidWestover；andheflewathiscolorsandbegantopaint。
Hehadgothiscanvasintosuchastatethathealonecouldhavefounditmuchmoreintelligiblethanhispalette，whenheheardtheboysaying，overhisshoulder："Idon’tthinkthatlooksverymuchlikeit。"Hehadlastbeenawareoftheboysittingatthegrassyedgeofthelane，tossingsmallbitsofearthandpebbleacrosstohisdog，whichsatattheotheredgeandsnappedatthem。Thenhelostconsciousnessofhim。
Heanswered，dreamily，whilehefoundatinthewastryingforwithhisbrush："Perhapsyoudon’tknow。"Hewassosureofhiseffectthatthepopularcensurespeakingintheboy’sopiniononlymadehimhappierinit。
"IknowwhatIsee，"saidtheboy。
"Idoubtit，"saidWestover，andthenhelostconsciousnessofhimagain。
Hewasraptdeepandfarintothejoyofhiswork，andhadnothoughtbutforthat，andforthedimquestionwhetheritwouldbesuchanotherdayto—morrow，withthatlightagainonLion’sHead，whenhewasatlastsensibleofanoisethathefelthemusthavebeenhearingsometimewithoutnotingit。Itwasalamentable，soundofscreaming，asofsomeoneinmortalterror，mixedwithwildentreaties。"Oh，don’t，Jeff！
Oh，don’t，don’t，don’t！Oh，please！Oh，doletusbe！Oh，Jeff，don’t！"
Westoverlookedroundbewildered，andnotable，amidtheclamoroftheechoes，tomakeoutwherethecriescamefrom。Then，downatthepointwherethelanejoinedtheroadtothesouthwardandtheroadlostitselfintheshadowofawoodland，hesawtheboyleapingbackandforthacrossthetrack，withhisdogbesidehim；hewasshoutingandhisdogbarkingfuriously；thosescreamsandentreatiescamefromwithintheshadow。
Westoverplungeddownthelaneheadlong，withaspeedthatgatheredateachbound，andthatalmostflunghimonhisfacewhenhereachedthelevelwheretheboyandthedogweredancingbackandforthacrosstheroad。Thenhesaw，crouchingintheedgeofthewood，alittlegirl，whowasutteringtheappealshehadheard，andclingingtoher，withafaceoffranticterror，achildoffiveorsixyears；hercrieshadgrownhoarse，andhadahard，mechanicalactionastheyfollowedoneanother。
Theywerereallyinnodanger，fortheboyheldhisdogtightbyhiscollar，andwasmerelydelightinghimselfwiththeirterror。
Thepainterhurledhimselfuponhim，and，withaquickgripuponhiscollar，gavehimhalfadozenflat—handedblowswhereverhecouldplantthemandthenflunghimreelingaway。
"Youinfernallittleruffian！"heroaredathim；andthesoundofhisvoicewasenoughforthedog；hebegantoscalethehill—sidetowardthehousewithoutamoment’sstay。
Thechildrenstillcrouchedtogether，andWestovercouldhardlymakethemunderstandthattheywereinhiskeepingwhenhebentoverthemandbadethemnotbefrightened。Thelittlegirlsetaboutwipingthechild’seyesonheraproninamotherlyfashion；herownweredryenough，andWestoverfanciedtherewasmoreoffurythanoffrightinherface。Sheseemedlosttoanysenseofhispresence，andkeptontalkingfiercelytoherself，whilesheputthelittleboyinorder，likeanindignantwoman。
"Great，mean，uglything！I’lltelltheteacheronhim，that’swhatI
will，assoonaseverschoolbegins。I’llseeifhecancomeroundwiththatdogofhisscaringfolks！Iwouldn’t’a’beenabitafraidifithadn’t’a’beenforFranky。Don’tcryanymore，Franky。Don’tyouseethey’regone？Ipresumehethinksitsmarttoscarealittleboyandagirl。IfIwasaboyonce，I’dshowhim！"
ShemadenosignofgratitudetoWestover：asfarasanyrecognitionfromherwasconcerned，hisinterventionwassomethingasimpersonalasifithadbeenathunder—boltfallinguponherenemiesfromthesky。
"Wheredoyoulive？"heasked。"I’llgohomewithyouifyou’lltellmewhereyoulive。"
Shelookedupathiminadaze，andWestoverheardtheDurginboysaying：
"Shelivesrightthereinthatlittlewood—coloredhouseattheotherendofthelane。Thereain’tnocalltogohomewithher。"
Westoverturnedandsawtheboykneelingattheedgeofaclumpofbushes，wherehemusthavestruck；hewasrubbing，withatuftofgrass，atthedirtgroundintothekneesofhistrousers。
Thelittle，girlturnedhawkishlyuponhim。"Notforanythingyoucando，JeffDurgin！"
Theboydidnotanswer。
"There！"shesaid，givingafinalpullandtwitchtothedressofherbrother，andtakinghimbythehandtenderly。"Now，comerightalong，Franky。"
"Letmehaveyourotherhand，"saidWestover，and，withthelittleboybetweenthem，theysetofftowardthepointwherethelanejoinedtheroadonthenorthward。TheyhadtopassthebusheswhereJeffDurginwascrouching，andthelittlegirlturnedandmadeafaceathim。"Oh，oh！
Idon’tthinkIshouldhavedonethat，"saidWestover。
"Idon’tcare！"saidthelittlegirl。Butshesaid，inexplanationandpartialexcuse："Hetriestoscareallthegirls。I’lllethimknow’thecan’tscareone！"
WestoverlookeduptowardtheDurginhousewithareturnofinterestinthecanvashehadleftinthelaneontheeasel。Nothinghadhappenedtoit。Atthedoorofthebarnhesawthefarmerandhiseldestsonslantingforwardandstaringdownthehillatthepointhehadcomefrom。
Mrs。Durginwaslookingoutfromtheshelteroftheporch，andsheturnedandwentinwithJeff’sdogatherskirtswhenWestovercameinsightwiththechildren。
V。
Westoverhadhisteawiththefamily，butnothingwassaidordonetoshowthatanyofthemresentedorevenknewofwhathadhappenedtotheboyfromhim。Jeffhimselfseemedtohavenogrudge。HewentoutwithWestover，whenthemealwasended，andsatonthestepsoftheporchwithhim，watchingthepainterwatchthelightdarkenonthelonelyheightsandinthelonelydepthsaround。Westoversmokedapipe，andthefiregleamedandsmoulderedinitregularlywithhisbreathing；theboy，onalower’step，pulledatthelongearsofhisdogandgazedupathim。
Theywerebothsilenttillthepainterasked："Whatdoyoudoherewhenyou’renottryingtoscarelittlechildrentodeath？"
Theboyhunghisheadandsaid，withtheeffectofexcusingalongarrearsofuselessness："I’mgoin’toschoolassoonasitcommences。"
"There’sonebranchofyoureducationthatIshouldliketoundertakeifIeversawyouatathinglikethatagain。Don’tyoufeelashamedofyourself？"
Theboypulledsohardatthedog’searthatthedoggaveafaintyelpofprotest。
"Theymight’a’seenthatIhadhimbythecollar。Iwa’n’ta—goin’toletgo。"
"Well，thenexttimeIhaveyoubythecollarIwon’tletgo，either，"
saidthepainter；buthefeltaninadequacyinhisthreat，andheimaginedasuperfluity，andhemadesomehastetoask："whoarethey？"
"Whitwellistheirname。Theyliveinthatlittlehousewhereyoutookthem。Theirfather’sgotapieceoflandonZion’sHeadthathe’sclearin’offforthetimber。Theirmother’sdead，andCynthykeepshouse。She’salwaysmakin’upnamesandfaces，"addedtheboy。"Shethinksherselfawfulsmart。ThatFranky’saperfectcry—baby。"
"Well，uponmyword！Youarealittleruffian，"saidWestover，andheknockedtheashesoutofhispipe。"ThenexttimeyoumeetthatpoorlittlecreatureyoutellherthatIthinkyou’reabouttheshabbiestchapIknow，andthatIhopetheteacherwillbeginwhereIleftoffwithyouandnotleaveblackguardenoughinyouto——"
Hestoppedforwantofafittingfigure，andtheboysaid："Iguesstheteacherwon’ttouchme。"
Westoverrose，andtheboyflunghisdogawayfromhimwithhisfoot。
"WantIshouldshowyouwheretosleep？"
"Yes，"saidWestover，andtheboyhulkedinbeforehim，vanishingintothedarkoftheinterior，andpresentlyappearedwithalightedhand—lamp。HeledthewayupstairstoafrontroomlookingdownupontheporchroofandovertowardZion’sHead，whichWestovercouldseedimlyoutlinedagainstthenightsky，whenheliftedtheedgeofthepapershadeandpeeredout。
Theroomwasneat，withgreatercomfortinitsappointmentsthanhehopedfor。Hetriedthebed，andfoundithard，butofstraw，andnotthefeathershehaddreaded；whiletheboylookedintothewater—pitchertoseeifitwasfull；andthenwentoutwithoutanyformofgoodnight。
Westoverwouldhaveexpectedtowashinatinbasinatthebackdoor，andwipeonthefamilytowel，butallthemeansoftoilet，suchastheywere，hefoundathandhere，andasurprisewhichhehadfeltatacertaintouchinthecookingreneweditselfattheintelligentarrangementsforhiscomfort。Asecondaryquiltwaslaidacrossthefootofhisbed；hiswindow—shadewaspulleddown，and，thoughthewindowwasshutandtheairstuffywithin，therewasasenseofcleanlinessineverythingwhichwasnotatvariancewiththecloseness。
Thebedfeltfreshwhenhegotintoit，andthesweetbreathofthemountainscameinsocoldthroughthesashhehadliftedthathewasgladtopullthesecondaryquiltupoverhim。Heheardtheclocktickinsomeroombelow；fromanotherquartercamethemuffledsoundofcoughing；butotherwisetheworldwasintenselystill，andhesleptdeepandlong。
VI。
Themenfolkshadfinishedtheirbreakfastandgonetotheirfarm—workhoursbeforeWestovercamedowntohisbreakfast，buttheboyseemedtobeofasmuchearlyleisureashimself，andwasloungingonthethresholdofthebackdoor，withhisdoginwaitinguponhim。Hegavetheeffectofyesterday’scleanlinessfreshenedupwithmorerecentsoapandwater。
AtthemomentWestovercaughtsightofhim，heheardhismothercallingtohimfromthekitchen，"Well，now，comeinandgetyourbreakfast，Jeff，"andtheboycalledtoWestover，inturn，"I’lltellheryou’rehere，"asheroseandcamein—doors。"Iguessshe’sgotyourbreakfastforyou。"
Mrs。DurginbroughtthebreakfastalmostassoonasWestoverhadfoundhiswaytothetable，andshelingeredasifforsomeexpressionofhisopinionuponit。Thebiscuitandthebutterwereverygood，andhesaidso；theeggswerefresh，andthehashfromyesterday’scorned—beefcouldnothavebeenbetter，andhepraisedthem；buthewassilentaboutthecoffee。
"Ita’n’tverygood，"shesuggested。
"Why，I’musedtomakingmyowncoffee；Ilivedsolonginacountrywhereit’snearlythewholeofbreakfastthatIgotintothehabitofit，andIalwayscarrymylittlemachinewithme；butIdon’tliketobringitout，unless——"
"Unlessyoucan’tstandtheotherfolks’s，"saidthewoman，withahumorousgleam。"Well，youneedn’tmindme。Iwantyoushouldhavegoodcoffee，andIguessIa’n’ttoooldtolearn，ifyouwanttoshowme。
Ourfolksdon’tcareforitmuch；theyliketea；andIkindofgotoutofthewayofit。Butathomewehadtohaveit。"Sheexplained，tohisinquiringglance。
"MyfatherkeptthetavernontheoldroadtoSt。Albans，ontheothersideofLion’sHead。That’swhereIalwayslivedtillImarriedhere。"
"Oh，"saidWestover，andhefeltthatshehadproudlywishedtoaccountforaqualitywhichshehopedhehadnoticedinhercooking。Hethoughtshemightbegoingtotellhimsomethingmoreofherself，butsheonlysaid，"Well，anytimeyouwanttoshowmeyourwayofmakin’coffee，"andwentoutoftheroom。
Thatevening，whichwasthecloseofanotherflawlessday，hesatagainwatchingthelightoutside，whenhesawhercomeintothehallwaywithalargeshade—lampinherhand。Shestoppedatthedoorofaroomhehadnotseenyet，andlookedoutathimtoask：
"Won’tyoucomeinandsetintheparlorifyouwantto？"
Hefoundhertherewhenhecamein，andhertwosonswithher；theyoungerwassleepilyputtingawaysomeschool—books，andtheelderseemedtohavebeenhelpinghimwithhislessons。
"He’sgottobeginschoolnextweek，"shesaidtoWestover；andatthepreparationstheothernowbegantomakewithapieceofpaperandaplanchettewhichhehadonthetablebeforehim，sheasked，inthehalf—
mocking，half—deprecatingwaywhichseemedcharacteristicofher："Youbelieveanyinthat？"
"Idon’tknowthatI’veeverseenitwork，"saidthepainter。
"Well，sometimesitwon’twork，"shereturned，altogethermockinglynow，andsatholdinghershapelyhands，whichwereneithersolargenorsoroughastheymighthavebeen，acrosshermiddleandwatchinghersonwhilethemachinepushedaboutunderhispalm，andhebenthiswaneyesupononeoftheoval—framedphotographsonthewall，asifraptinasupernalvision。Theboystareddrowsilyattheplanchette，jerkingthiswayandthat，andmakingabruptstartsandstops。Atlasttheyoungmanliftedhispalmfromit，andputitasidetostudythehieroglyphicsithadleftonthepaper。
"What’sitsay？"askedhismother。
Theyoungmanwhispered："Ican’tseemtomakeoutveryclear。IguessI
gottotakealittletimetoit，"headded，leaningbackwearilyinhischair。"Everseenmuchofthemanifestations？"hegaspedatWestover。
"Neverany，before，"saidthepainter，withaleniencyfortheinvalidwhichhedidnotfeelforhisbelief。
Theyoungmantriedforhisvoice，andfoundenoughofittosay：
"There’satrancemediumoverattheHuddle。Hercontrolsays’tIcandevelopintoawritin’medium。"HeseemedtoreferthefactasasortofquestiontoWestover，whocouldthinkofnothingtosaybutthatitmustbeveryinterestingtofeelthatonehadsuchapower。
"Iguesshedon’tknowhe’sgotityet，"hismotherinterposed。"Andplanchettedon’tseemtoknow，either。"
"Weha’n’tgivenitafairtrialyet，"saidtheyoungman，impartially，almostimpassively。
"Wouldn’tyouliketoseeitdosomeofyoursums，Jeff？"saidthemothertothedrowsyboy，blinkinginacorner。"Youbettergotobed。"
Theelderbrotherrose。"IguessI’llgo，too。"
Thefatherhadnotjoinedtheircircleintheparlor，nowbreakingupbycommonconsent。
Mrs。Durgintookupherlampagainandlookedroundontheappointmentsoftheroom，asifshewishedWestovertonotethem，too：thedrabwallpaper，thestiffchairs，thelong，hardsofainhaircloth，thehighbureauofmahoganyveneer。
"Youcancomeinhereandsetorlaydownwheneveryoufeellikeit，"shesaid。"Weuseitmorethanfolksgenerally，Ipresume；wegotinthehabit，havin’itopenforfunerals。"
VII。
Fourorfivedaysofperfectweatherfollowedoneanother，andWestoverworkedhardathispictureinthelateafternoonlighthehadchosenforit。InthemorninghetrampedthroughthewoodsandclimbedthehillswithJeffDurgin，whoseemednevertodoanythingaboutthefarm，andhadaleisureunbrokenbyanythingexceptararecallfromhismothertohelpherinthehouse。Hebuiltthekitchenfire，andgotthewoodforit；
hepickedthebelatedpeaseandtheearlybeansinthegarden，andshelledthem；ontheMondaywhentheschoolopenedhedidashareofthefamilywash，whichseemedtohavebeenbegunbeforedaylight，andWestoversawhimhangingouttheclothesbeforehestartedoffwithhisbooks。Hesufferednoapparentlossofself—respectintheseemployments，and，whilehestillhadhisdaysfree，heputhimselfatWestover’sdisposalwithaneffectofunimpairedequality。Hehadexpected，evidently，thatWestoverwouldwanttofishorshoot，oratleastjoinhiminthehuntforwoodchucks，whichhestillcarriedonwithabatedzealforlackofhiscompanywhenthepaintersatdowntosketchcertainbitsthatstruckhim。WhenhefoundthatWestovercaredfornothinginthewayofsport，aspeoplecommonlyunderstandit，hedidnotopenlycontemnhim。Hehelpedhimgettheflowershestudied，andhelearnedtoknowtruemushroomsfromhim，thoughhedidnotfollowhisteachingineatingthetoadstools，ashismothercalledthem，whentheybroughtthemhometobecooked。
IfitcouldnotbesaidthathesharedtheaffectionwhichbegantogrowupinWestoverfromtheircompanionship，therecouldbenodoubtoftheinteresthetookinhim，thoughitoftenseemedthesamecriticalcuriositywhichappearedintheeyeofhisdogwhenitdweltuponthepainter。FoxhaddivinedinhiswaythatWestoverwasnotonlynottobemolested，butwastoberespectfullytolerated，yetnogleamofkindnesseverlighteduphisfaceatsightofthepainter；heneverwaggedhistailinrecognitionofhim；hesimplyrecognizedhimandnomore，andheremainedpassiveunderWestover’sadvances，whichhehadtheeffectofcovertlyreferringtoJeff，whentheboywasby，forhisapprovalordisapproval；whenhewasnotby，thedog’smannerimpliedareservationofopinionuntilthefactscouldbesubmittedtohismaster。
OntheSaturdaymorningwhichwasthelasttheyweretohavetogether，thethreecomradeshadstrayedfromthevaguewoodroadalongoneoftheunexpectedlevelsonthemountainslopes，andhadcometoastandstillinaplacewhichtheboypretendednottoknowhiswayoutof。Westoverdoubtedhim，forhehadfoundthatJefflikedtogivehimselfcreditforwoodcraftbydiscoveringanescapefromthedepthsoftracklesswildernesses。
"Iguessyouknowwhereweare，"hesuggested。
"No，honestly，"saidtheboy；buthegrinned，andWestoverstilldoubtedhim。
"Hark！What’sthat？"hesaid，hushingfurtherspeechfromhimwithamotionofhishand。Itwasthesoundofanaxe。
"Oh，Iknowwhereweare，"saidJeff。"It’sthatCanuckchoppinginWhitwell’sclearing。Comealong。"
Heledthewaybrisklydownthemountain—sidenow，stoppingfromtimetotimeandverifyinghiscoursebythesoundoftheaxe。Thiscameandwent，andby—and—byitceasedaltogether，andJeffcreptforwardwitharealorfeigneduncertainty。Suddenlyhestopped。Avoicecalled，"
Heigh，there！"andtheboyturnedandfled，crashingthroughtheunderbrushatatangent，withhisdogathisheels。
Westoverlookedafterthem，andthencameforward。Alankfigureofamanatthefootofapoplar，whichhehadbeguntofell，stoodwaitinghim，onehandonhisaxe—helveandtheotheronhiship。Therewasthescentoffreshlysmittenbarkandsap—woodintheair；thegroundwaspavedwithbroad，cleanchips。
"Good—morning，"saidWestover。
"Howareyou？"returnedtheother，withoutmovingormakinganysignofwelcomeforamoment。Butthenheliftedhisaxeandstruckitintothecarfonthetree，andcametomeetWestover。
Asheadvancedheheldouthis。hand。"Oh，you’retheonethatstoppedthatfellowthatdaywhenhewastryin’toscaremychildren。Well，I
thoughtIshouldrunacrossyousometime。"HeshookhandswithWestover，intokenofthegratitudewhichdidnotexpressitselfinwords。"Howareyou？TreatyouprettywellupattheDurgins’？Iguessso。Theoldwomanknowshowtocook，anyway。Jackson’saboutthebesto’thelotaboveground，thoughIdon’tknowasIknowverymuchagainsttheoldman，either。Butthatboy！IdeclareI’mostfeelliketakin’
thetopofhisheadoffwhenhegetsathistricks。Setdown。"
Whitwell，asWestoverdivinedthemantobe，tookaseathimselfonahighstump，whichsuitedhislengthofleg，andcourteouslywavedWestovertoaplaceontheloginfrontofhim。Along，raggedbeardofbrown，withlinesofgrayinit，hungfromhischinandmountedwelluponhisthincheekstowardhisfriendlyeyes。Hismustachelaysunkenonhislip，whichhadfalleninwiththelossofhisupperteeth。Fromthelowerjawafewincisorsshowedatthisslantandthatashetalked。
"Well，well！"hesaid，withtheairofwishingthetalktogoon，butwithouthavinganythingimmediatelytoofferhimself。
Westoversaid，"Thankyou，"ashedroppedonthelog，andWhitwelladded，relentingly："Idon’tsupposeafellow’ssomuchtoblame，ifhe’sgotthedevilinhim，aswhatthedevilis。"
HereferredthepointwithatwinkleofhiseyestoWestover，whosaid：
"It’salwaysaquestion，ofcourse，whetherit’sthedevil。Itmaybeoriginalsinwiththefellowhimself。"
"Well，that’ssomethingso，"saidWhitwell，withpleasureinthedistinctionratherthanassent。"ButIguessitain’toriginalsinintheboy。Gotitfromhisgran’fatherpoottystraight，Ishouldsay，andmaybetheoldmanhaditsecondhand。Ha’dtosayjustwheresomuchcussednessgitsstatted。"
"Hisfather’sfather？"askedWestover，willingtohumorWhitwell’sevidentwishtophilosophizetheDurgins’history。
"Mother’s。HekepttheoldtavernstandonthewestsideofLion’sHead，ontheSt。AlbansRoad，andIguesshekeptapoottygoodhouseintheoldtimeswhenthestagesstoppedwithhim。Evernoticedhowamanonthemeansideinpoliticsalwaysknowshowtokeepahotel？Well，it’ssomethingcurious。Iftherewaseverameansidetoanyquestion，oldMasonwasonit。Myfolksusedtolivearoundthere，andIcanrememberwhenIwasaboyhangin’aroundthebar—roomnightshearin’himarguethatcoloredfolkshadnosouls；andalongaboutthetimethefugitive—
slavelawwaspassedthefolkspoottynearrunhimouto’townforputtin’theUnitedStatesmarshalonthescentofafellowthatwasbreakin’forCanada。Well，itwasjustsowhenthewarcome。ItwasknownforafactthathewasinwiththemSeceshdevilsupoverthelinethatwasplannin’araidintoVermontin’63。He’dgotpoottylowdownbythattime；railroadstookoffallthetravel；tavern’dgottobearegulardoggery；oldmanalwaysdranksome，Iguess。ThatwasagoodwhileafterhisgirlhadmarriedDurgin。Hewasdeadagainstit，anditbrokehimupconsid’ablewhenshewouldhavehim：Well，onenighttheoldstandburntupandhiminit，andneitherof’eminsured。"
Whitwelllaughedwithapleasureinhissatirewhichgavethemonumentsinhislowerjawarathersinisteraction。But，asifhefeltarebukeinWestover’ssilence，headded："Thereain’tanythingagainstMis’
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